SHC01__C1: Memories from a Past Life Have Sprouted

C1: Memories from a Past Life Have Sprouted

My day starts the same way every morning—with a glance in the mirror and a muttered,

“Well, what a magnificent white pig you are today.”

That’s me, Agaha Kikunoi, eldest son of the noble Kikunoi family of the Kihou Empire.

I’m five years old—technically five and a half—but my body is… well, let’s just say, not what you’d expect from a typical five-year-old.

First off, my hair is black and heavy, falling to my shoulders with a gloomy aura. 

My eyes are violet, but you can barely see them through the puffy fat that surrounds them.

My nose is round like a pig’s, and my lips are always shiny with grease. 

If I had to pick one redeeming feature, it would be my skin—pale and white as snow. Hence the “white pig.”

Sure, kids have chubby, rounded bodies, but my proportions are in a league of their own. My wrists are about as thick as an adult’s, and my belly sticks out so far that bending over is a struggle.

A textbook chubby mess—thank you very much. What kind of twisted punishment is this?

Still, I’ve made progress. Six months ago, my belly stuck out so far I couldn’t see my toes. 

I couldn’t even scratch my own back or wipe myself after using the toilet. 

Now at least I can manage the bathroom on my own.

Of all the humiliations, needing help in the bathroom was the worst. Mortifying doesn’t even begin to describe it. 

But I guess that same shame is what finally motivated me to get serious about losing weight.

...What? You’re surprised?

I don’t seem like a five-year-old?

Yeah, I get that a lot. My mental age is probably six times that. You see, I remember my past life.

Wait—don’t back away! I know how that sounds, but please hear me out.

It all started six months ago. 

At the time, the Kihou Empire was in the grip of a terrible plague, and just before my fifth birthday, I was struck down by it too. 

A high fever had me delirious for a whole week.
The doctors gave up on me, and they were about to call the undertaker when somehow—miraculously—I pulled through.

Most of this I only know from my nurse, Ms. Rottenmeier, who’s been with me since I was small.

 What I do remember is that during my fevered delirium, the memories of my past self sprouted in my mind like weeds. 

I devoured them, clung to them, and somehow, I survived.

Let me tell you a bit about the “me” from before.

I was born in Japan, right around the end of the economic bubble. 

My hobbies were cooking, sewing, DIY, and watching musicals.

 I especially loved the school of performances put on by the young ladies of the Violet Garden—absolute masterpieces. 

A so-called "Otomen": an average-looking guy with the heart of a maiden.

Single, but on good terms with my parents. My job—kind of a black company, but stable—was in civil service. 

By a stroke of luck, I worked alongside my best friend from elementary school.

That friend, Tanaka, was a hardcore fan of anime and light novels.

 He often had me make cosplay outfits for him. 

The costumes were elaborate, kind of like the ones from Violet Garden, which I enjoyed. 

He paid for all the materials, too, so I got to indulge my hobby on someone else's dime.

In return, I’d cook for him, help when he was working on fan comics, and even did his makeup for cosplay events. 

We were just two guys goofing off and enjoying life.

Then came one fateful summer.

Tanaka was rushing to finish a comic in time for a big convention, and I spent three out of my seven-day summer break helping him. 

The day of the event was sweltering—over 30 degrees Celsius. 

Running on zero sleep, we were buzzing with energy, printing books, selling, buying, cosplaying, snapping photos… Then I went home, took a bath, and passed out.

Next thing I knew, I was hearing my parents’ panicked voices fading into the distance.

I probably died. Heatstroke, most likely. What a stupid way to go.

And so, "I" became "me." I was reborn.

My guess is, the reason I now refer to myself as "watashi" instead of "ore" (a more masculine "I") is because the knowledge from my past life blended smoothly with who I am now.

“I” am “me.” No longer “him.”

NEXT.

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